


The Morning House

by RedHorse



Series: Dear Lily [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU (Lily lives), Adoption, Friends to Lovers, House Hunting, M/M, Roommates, Werewolf Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Sirius convinces Remus to move in with him. Romance ensues.Standalone story in a Lily-lived AU.





	1. The Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel in sequence to Dear Lily, but sort of assumes the reader has read Dear Lily, since it was written afterward. If you haven’t, no problem. This story should stand alone.

The Morning House Ch. 1

July 30, 1986

Sirius shrunk the last of Harry’s birthday presents and tucked them into his pocket. Even made the size of dice, they created a bulge in the fabric the size of his fist. He had forgotten the charm that could reveal a package’s contents without breaking the packaging, and he had also forgotten what all but the most recently purchased gifts contained. He loved buying things for Harry, and he always started making impulsive purchases some time shortly after Christmas, concluding in the few days before he  Portkeyed to the U.S. His displays of excess never failed to delight Har ry nor to elicit exasperation from Lily. Fond exasperation, though, he was  fairly sure.

He spent an extra moment brushing his fingertips against a certain long, rectangular package. There had been one gift that had made him think with such particular pain about James, he couldn’t forget which one it was and what it contained. Reminders of James, and what Sirius lost when he died, still left him breathless, and after nearly five years of waiting for that feeling to pass, Sirius had resigned himself to its permanence. While the days leading up to visiting Lily and Harry bore a direct correlation to a spike in moments like this one, the longer periods of joy more than made up for it.

This year, Sirius hadn’t been invited for the week leading up to Harry’s birth day, and he had suspicions as to the reason. Which was why he had taken it upon himself to arrive early, even though it surely meant Lily would take him to task.

One of the pleasanter side effects of bearing the title of Lord Black was that upon filling out a more or less painless paper form, at least one week in advance, his pile of gold in  Gringott’s became infinitesimally smaller and a Ministry barn owl delivered a carefully packaged international Portkey directly to Sirius’s window. If he kept office hours at the Ministry like his grandfather had, he might have had it even faster. But Sirius avoided the ancestral office  with such dedication as to  have never set foot there since the chair behind the polished desk was occupied by his own father. 

Sirius gingerly removed the packaging from the Portkey without making skin - to - skin contact, cast a spell Lily had taught him to be sure the magic had been safely and correctly applied, and checked his pockets a final time to ensure he hadn’t forgotten a crucial bit of luggage. 

Bracing himself for the sensation of a long-distance Portkey, Sirius reached out and seized the empty plastic water bottle, and was swept through time and space. He landed neatly on his feet, taking a few steading steps as he looked around at a commercial street that would have been distinctly Muggle-looking if it weren’t for the animated figures on the wooden-painted signs along the rows of buildings, and the odd tricorn hat among the persons milling about on the sidewalk.

Sirius never missed Harry’s birthday, and Lily had relocated around the States a time or two, so he wasn’t totally unaccustomed to landing in a foreign Yankee wizarding district  and not knowing where to go.  It still made him uncomfortable, and while Lily, painfully punctual creature that she was, never let him loiter long when he kept to their prior arrangements, she wouldn’t expect him until the following morning.

So Sirius stepped alone out of the  Porkey point and dropped the bottle in the bin stationed alongside it for that purpose, and quickly removed his cloak and folded it over his arm. It was hot here, a heat that had a quality that made his skin prickle with memory, and suddenly Sirius knew where he was.

Bibbleville , the nonsensically named district nearest Taos, but nearer Mexico. Sirius was delighted to recognize it. It meant tracking Lily down would be much easier, since nearly the only explanation was that she was at the Pueblo. She couldn’t be this near that original home of hers in MACUSA, he didn’t think, and not be back at the Pueblo. It had too strong a draw.

Only a few uncomfortable minutes later, Sirius approached a shopkeeper to ask about getting to Taos Pueblo, and with that singularly American gregariousness, the shopkeeper (“oh, call me Samuel”) had arranged for Siri us (“may I call  ya Sirius? What a name!”) to have a Muggle taxi driven by a Squib (“puts you at ease when you don’t have to worry ‘bout slipping up, don’t it?”) meet him at the boundary of  Bibbleville and take him directly to the Pueblo (“tell the docs hello from Samuel!”).

Sirius felt almost relaxed, waiting in the hot sunshine for the taxi without stepping through the crackling air that gave away the presence of wards to any magical person. They weren’t something you would see in Britain, where Muggle repelling charms were usually enough, considering wizarding space was used for most wizarding districts, neighborhoods and homes. But there was so much  space  out here in the American southwest that it was easier to share with the Muggle world, using wards that would curtain the wizarding areas under the guise of more of the vast empty landscape, while gently but firmly deterring sustained interest or a desire to trespass.

No Muggles were about—a narrow blacktop highway stretched from one horizon to the next, with no sign of habitation or a vehicle in sight—but Sirius preferred to stay inside the wards, anyway, until a bright yellow sedan appeared, some part of its inner workings emitting a sharp wheeze, and came to a stop. A woman with a shiny, dark brown ponytail and coffee-colored skin leaned out the window, looking around as though she knew someone was there and did not expect to actually see them, but wasn’t too concerned about it. Squibs were often easy to pick out.

Sirius stepped through the wards, and the woman smiled in a businesslike manner at his sudden appearance.

“One way to the Pueblo?” she asked, and when Sirius gave a confirming nod, she got out of the taxi and opened the rear door after a brief struggle with the handle. “Sticks sometimes,” she explained to Sirius. “Hop in!”

The wheeze was duller but also more apparent as Sirius slid into the backseat.

“AC has been fussy,” said the driver, whatever that meant. “I’m Carla. Sam says you’re an out-of-towner,” she added, with an exaggerated wink in the rearview mirror. The inside of the vehicle was close and almost unbearably hot. Sirius’s hand brushed the metal buckle of one half of the safety restraint, and he swore.

“Sorry  bout that,” said the driver, and they started off.

It was well known that Muggle machines could misbehave when exposed to magic, so Sirius sat still and dug his fingers into his thighs to restrain the strong urge he had to cast a cooling charm out of habit. He pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck and breathed in and out slowly through his nose, the way his instructor had told him to during a mind healing session about meditation. He hadn’t gone back for a second lesson, though, and had never practiced, so the skill was underdeveloped and rusty to boot.

“How far is it to the Pueblo?” Sirius asked, thinking he might rather not know.

“About an hour,” said the driver. Sirius let his head fall back against the seat with an audible thump.

One hour and fifteen minutes later, Sirius all but tumbled out of the Muggle car and cast a drying and cooling charm on himself so enthusiastically that a glaze of ice appeared briefly across his knuckles on his wand hand.

Carla was stepping out of the vehicle, too, and squinting at the Pueblo. “You’ll want to go to the gift shop, I expect, and see where the docs are. There’s always someone in there, even in the middle of the afternoon.”

Sirius thanked her and settled up, then hiked up toward the gift shop, a homely modern building in contrast to the Pueblo itself. He felt completely disgusting. Even magic couldn’t fully erase the effects of being trapped in a hot car like the victim of a particularly inhumane kidnapping. He vowed to arrange for alternative travel on the return trip.

He was shaping the next step of his plan in his mind as he reached for the glass door, which the sun was hitting in such a way as to make it reflective instead of transparent. Due to the distraction and the behavior of the sunlight, Sirius didn’t see the person coming out until they were bumping into one another, both seizing the other’s forearm for balance.

A distinct smell of parchment and mint and sandalwood assailed him so that, as sure as when he was a dog, he knew who he would see even before he blinked and focused.

“Moony,” Sirius murmured. A smile so wide his jaw cracked came to his face before he could contain himself. His eyes roved over the man in front of him, feeling the ever-spare flesh of Remus’s arm under a ratty sleeve, seeing those golden-brown eyes up close, unchanged by the past four years, while there were new lines and faint scars on  his cheeks and a new strain around his mouth. The sight of these signs of hardship almost banished Sirius’s smile, but not quite.

“Sirius,” Remus said calmly, extricating himself from Sirius’s grasp. “I thought you were coming tomorrow.”

“I know that’s what you thought, which is why I came today.”

Remus tried to look annoyed, but his mouth was twitching. “I know Lily didn’t tell you, but I should have known she wouldn’t have to.”

“I’ve come for a week the past three years,” Sirius said, by way of agreement. “What else could the snub mean? Certainly not that I was unwanted.”

Remus glanced at him quickly at the last word. “Certainly not,” he said, soft and much too serious.

“This is more of  Padfoot’s luck, I think,” Sirius said, still grinning like an idiot and starting to sweat again, but he didn’t care. “I thought it might take me all day to find Lily and then sniff you out, but here we are. Forget to buy Harry a present, did you?”

Remus winced, and Sirius cursed himself. Any reference to money or expenditure was fatal around Remus. Then he cursed Remus a bit, too. His silliness on this subject would never make sense to Sirius, but he had a new strategy where Remus was concerned, in the hope that they would not erupt into one of their protracted, festering rows. He would not enter into an argument on the subject of Sirius’s unearned fortune which he could never hope to spend no matter how freely he shared it, or Remus’s unearned destitution which he could never hope to satisfactorily remedy in a world that feared his wolf.  Certainly Sirius would not mention—directly, anyway—the logical solution to their complimentary problems. The last time he had, they hadn’t spoken for a year, and only now was Remus consistently returning his letters.

“Lily asked me to drop something by the shop,” Remus said, after a long hesitation. Then, at last, he smiled. Requiring no further encouragement, Sirius’s grin returned at its maximum intensity, and Remus blinked and glanced over his shoulder, as though Sirius, like the sun, could not be regarded directly.

“I’ll walk you up to the house, then,” Remus said, his reserve intact. “Harry will be pleased.”

Sirius turned back toward the house, feeling a contented warmth, the way he only did (any more) with Remus, the way he hadn’t, consistently, since school. He tried not to think about it too much. It was a Marauder feeling, and as such, reflecting upon it had an equal power to bring happiness or pain. 

“How is our little Potter?” Sirius murmured, matching Remus’s longer stride with the ease of muscle memory. The sun was on their backs now, and hot enough to make him want to swear.

Remus noticed Sirius’s wince, and his reluctant little grin made another brief appearance. “Too hot for you, Black?”

“Not all of us have a skewed thermo-neutral zone, Lupin,” Sirius said, but resented the heat a little less when he noted that Remus was wearing a light linen shirt, folded back a bit at the wrists. Clearly the climate suited him as most of Britain, and certainly Scotland, never had. He even had a bit of a tan on his neck, proof he’d voluntarily gone outside uncovered. He looked good, now that Sirius had adjusted to the subtle indicators of stress that hadn’t been there the last time they’d been together. “Look at you, though, you’re practically a local. We tourists will at least be in short sleeves as soon as we settle in.”

Remus snorted. “Harry is well,” he said, deigning to address Sirius’s original question. “He’s a proper terror,” he added, and suddenly he was smiling for real, though it was gone again in a moment.

 “Anything else would be an enormous disappointment,” Sirius said. 

They were at the house now, mounting the steps, when the door suddenly flew open. A small version of James Potter with bright green eyes stood in the doorway, hair pasted to the side of his head on the right  side  and standing on end on the left. He pointed a stick at Remus and cried, “ _Stillio totalo_ !” Remus obediently froze. Then Harry noticed Sirius.

“I think the incantation you’re looking for is  _ petrificus  totalus _ ,” Sirius said.

Harry grinned and dropped his stick, then hurtled into Sirius’s knees. 

Remus smiled down at  Harry,  and Sirius took in the sight for a moment before bending down to give the boy a tight hug.

“Terrible habit, dropping your wand,” said Remus, picking up the stick. “Now how will you block my hex?” He gave the stick an artful twirl and then assumed a dueler’s stance and pointed it at Harry, still smiling.

Harry squirmed in Sirius’s arms and then turned his head to smile smugly at Remus. “Uncle Sirius will protect me.”

Their eyes met over Harry’s head, and Remus’s smile faded slowly from something sincere to something sad. “That’s right, Harry. Don’t forget it.” He ducked his head and went into the house, leaving Harry and Sirius alone on the step.

Harry craned his head up to look into Sirius’s face, obviously contented. “How many presents?” he asked hopefully.

“Dozens,” Sirius assured him. “Let’s go inside, shall we? You and your mother live in the hottest place on Earth, I’m fairly sure.”

“The hottest place on Earth is Death Valley,” said Harry, and for a moment he w as entirely Lily’s son. Then he added, “Mom made me go. It was boring.”

James’s son, too, though. Sirius ruffled his hair and swept him up under his arm, making him squeal.

“Let’s go say hello to your mum, then, shall we?”


	2. The Pack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Wolf_of_Lilacs, a lovely person and great beta!
> 
> Warning here for mention of prostitution.

August 16, 1986

Remus was tired.

It was not a new condition. In fact, he struggled to remember a time when he _wasn’t_ tired, and hungry, and slightly cold. Well, unless one counted Taos. He could have gotten used to all that sunshine.

But instead he was becoming re-accustomed to dear, dreary London, on the stoop of a building that looked Muggle and abandoned, unless you had a good sense for wards.

Or even a poor sense, he noted, frowning. The wards weren’t quite right. The magic was strong enough, but carelessly applied. He glanced around to confirm the street was empty, then drew his wand and wove the spell a little tighter, so at least a stray Muggle wouldn’t wander in before a professional could come back and reset them. He was still busy with it when it when the door opened, so there was a delay of a few seconds before Remus turned and fully faced the woman who stood there with a toddler on her hip.

“Remus,” she said, smiling warmly. “Ye came. Please, come in.”

He did. It was warm inside, even for him, and the air had the closed-in smell that was distasteful to his human side and torment for the wolf, which only sensed it was in the den of strangers. Remus ignored it, gritting his teeth and smiling at the toddler.

“Hullo, Greyson,” he told the boy, and then smiled at the child’s mother. “Hullo, Marney.”

She was as weary in her appearance as every werewolf Remus had ever known, but showed the additional stress of being the mother of six. Greyson was the youngest by a few years and, Remus privately hoped, Marney’s last. She could barely feed the ones she had and even then, their ribs all showed and their cheeks were hollow.

With that in mind, he removed the small package under his arm and expanded it, and Marney wilted with relief at the sight of three loaves of coarse homemade bread.

“Bless you,” she said. Remus shrugged uncomfortably and traded the package for Greyson, making faces at the boy while he slowly followed Marney down the narrow, dark hallway that led to the offstreet face of the apartment where the kitchen was located. The baby of the family, Remus noted with relief and some sorrow, was substantial, his pudgy thighs soft against Remus’s forearm. His cheeks were flushed with good health, and with a happy cry he seized a handful of Remus’s hair and demonstrated his strength as well.

“Greyson!” exclaimed Marney, helping untangle his fingers from Remus’s hair while Remus laughed. Then they sat down at the little kitchen table, their usual spot, and drank Marney’s weak tea while Remus filled out a few forms.

“Paul, he has been picking up work with the Muggles,” she said uncertainly. When Remus’s hand stilled over the parchment, and he glanced up, she was biting her lip. “Should ye not put that?”

Remus considered. Marney, being of-age and therefore in full possession of her “creature inheritance,” was not permitted to work, according to the ministry. The children, however, were seen as tainted but not yet fully monstrous, and therefore disqualified the family from being considered without means of support. Never mind that they were, well, children. Even Greyson was counted as an “able youth,” but of course the extent of his skills were presently being demonstrated while he clutched clumsily at Remus’s shirt with one hand and sucked the thumb of the other.

“I’ll write that he’s working, and nothing more,” Remus decided. “Are the twins still at the forge?” He passed Greyson over, took the form from his pocket, unshrunk it, and unrolled it.

They were, per Marney’s nod, so Remus wrote that down also. “And the girls?”

Marney didn’t say anything, and when Remus looked up from the form, she was looking down at Greyson’s hair and biting her lip.

Remus, feeling a bit sick, swallowed. “Marney, you said that you talked to them, and that they understood…”

“I did,” Marney said in a soft, rather strangled voice. “They did come off the street. They were lending magic at the tailor; you know Abby is rather strong.”

Remus knew there was more, so he felt no relief. “But?”

Marney turned her face toward him, and it was full of anguish. “We didn’t have enough to make rent. The landlord, he changed the wards, but Abby broke through for us, and…” she swallowed. “And then she and Nancy went out.”

Remus rubbed the bridge of his nose hard with his thumb and forefinger. “Marney, is there a way to make it a month. Just one month, so that you can sign the application.” All the able youth had to be gainfully employed at the time of Marney’s signature, or the magic would reject her attempt to execute it at all as a false one. There was a separate and lengthy form, particularly ridiculous, that detailed the ways in which Greyson was an exception to the able-bodied category, and then the paperwork would take up to thirty days to be processed at the Ministry. Then the aid could come.

“I do not know,” Marney said after a moment of thought. She hesitated, then added, “Abby said that Mr. Chance asked again, but this time he found Nancy alone.”

It was difficult to imagine a worse scenario than Abby and Nancy prostituting on the streets, as they were fourteen and seventeen, respectively, but their taking up with Chance Greyback would be one of them. At least, presumably, their Johns gave them something in return for their efforts, most of the time.

Remus had not ever been forced to the streets himself. He’d had non-werewolf parents who cared for him, and he’d had Hogwarts. But since then he had come close enough that it wasn’t in him to judge or forbid, so he just rolled the form back up and shrank it again.

“I’ll come in two weeks,” he said. “And if I can, before then, I’ll bring by what I might. You need to get those wards fixed.”

Marney grimaced. “Paul has a friend,” she said vaguely, and since Remus had a feeling he wouldn’t like knowing more, he didn’t ask.

Remus and the wolf felt almost identically relieved at escaping the house. It was so overwhelming, Remus slumped against the building at the bottom of the steps, and wished fervently he was carrying a cigarette. A bad habit, and one he needed to shake. The potions to counteract the negative effects on the lungs weren’t free, and even if they had been it all seemed quite wasteful to Remus. But in moments like these the craving for both the nicotine and the soothing ritual of a smoke came on strong.

His wand vibrated gently to remind him of something. Remus looked at his pocket, blank, for a moment before he remembered what it was. Lunch. With Sirius. He was strongly tempted to skip. It wasn’t concern over standing Sirius up that made him uproot himself and walk toward the apparition point. It was the inescapable sense that appointments, once made, must be kept. He did wish he hadn’t made it in the first place, though.

At their usual Leaky Cauldron table, Sirius was already waiting. Despite himself, Remus was impressed. Sirius ran late so consistently Remus had long ago begun suspecting it was deliberate. There was something he reluctantly found charming about Sirius, bursting into a crowded room an hour after the party commenced, capturing everyone’s attention with his unapologetic _sorry I’m late_ , looking anything but as he sauntered to the middle of the room.

Now here he was, waiting at the table they began claiming as teenagers, the one by the smudged window too close to the kitchen entrance. Sirius must have asked them to take away the two extra chairs.

Avoiding that train of thought, Remus took advantage of the fact Sirius hadn’t yet seen him to observe his oldest friend unawares. There was still confidence bordering on arrogance in every line of Sirius’s body. It was unconscious, worn even when Sirius believed himself unobserved. What was less familiar was the pensive expression on Sirius’s face, a face that Remus had spent hours surreptitiously studying in their post-pubescent years at Hogwarts. A face that had somehow, distressingly, grown handsomer with age.

 _This_ was one of the reasons, central among many, that Remus should not have made this appointment. Sighing, he finally forced himself forward, and as soon as he walked a few steps, Sirius saw him and sprang from the chair he’d been slouched in to catch Remus in one of his brief, uninvited and immensely pleasurable hugs.

“You’re here,” Sirius said, grinning, as they broke apart. He guided Remus toward the chair as though he was afraid to stop touching him. “And…” he cast a quick wandless _Tempus_ that Remus didn’t recall him capable of. “Five minutes early, at that. Of course.”

“You’re the early one,” Remus couldn’t help pointing out, occupied by taking his chair, shrugging off Sirius’s hand, and trying not to smile. “Five minutes early is punctual.”

“How can it be early _and_ punctual?” Sirius insisted. “Oh, Moony, I think your infamous mind is starting to go.” He pulled a convincing expression of sorrow and chagrin. “What does the mind healer have to say about these lapses?”

“Nothing to be done, she’s afraid,” Remus said. “On the slow downward spiral to dementia, like Uncle Edward.”

“You don’t have an Uncle Edward,” Sirius said easily. “I’ve ordered two of everything. Will that be enough?”

Remus had been in the process of opening his menu, but this was the sort of thing about which one couldn’t be sure Sirius was kidding, so he glanced up cautiously.

“Just two of everything?”

“Well, it’s only _four_ days until the moon, and therefore, according to the rule of twos, it’s two of everything.” This utter nonsense was spoken in a perfectly serious tone.

Remus put down his menu so he could fold his arms. “What the bloody fuck is ‘the rule of twos,’ since you clearly want me to ask?”

Sirius’s eyes widened with appreciation at Remus’s profanity, but he otherwise maintained his deadpan. “The rule of twos is the law of feeding Moony, whereby the scale of Moony’s appetite bears a direct relationship to the number of days before the full moon.”

“You’re an idiot,” Remus said.

Sirius gave him a wounded look, his grey eyes wide and soft and…just, too much. Remus opened his menu and vowed not to look up again until he could count down from twenty-five in his head.

He did, and by the last few numbers the words and images on the menu were coming into focus. Sensing a sincerely interested audience, the descriptions sprang to three-dimensional life and the pictures bubbled, sizzled or steamed invitingly.

“I really did, though,” Sirius interrupted a few moments later. “I ordered two of everything.”

“And paid already, presumably,” Remus said, putting down the menu and trying to be annoyed, but he couldn’t manage it. He _was_ hungry, and Sirius’s ridiculous comments about the rule of twos sounded alarmingly accurate now that it had been spoken aloud.

The food arrived shortly thereafter, and Remus was able to let go of some of his tension in the sheer pleasure of being presented with too much food. Of course, stasis charms would keep it well, and rationed out, he could make it last him two weeks, and…

And then he thought of Marney and her horde of skinny children, and the dozens he visited regularly just like them, and he lost his appetite.

Watching the transition, Sirius stirred restlessly on his side of the table. Remus looked at him directly for the first time since the first tray piled with food had been levitated to their table from the kitchen, and it was immediately obvious that Sirius hadn’t eaten a thing. That he had just been sitting there, watching Remus eat, with a satisfied look that was fading a bit now that Remus had gotten edgy and put down his knife and fork.

“Okay there, Moony?” Sirius cautiously nudged Remus’s foot with his own. His latent canine nature made him absurdly tactile, but for once Remus let himself indulge. He was miserable with guilt and helplessness. And he was tired of all of feeling that way, and ashamed to be tired of it. Encouraged when Remus didn’t draw back, Sirius wound his calf between Remus’s and then put his hand over Remus’s where it still lay lax on the table.

“Just, um, a lot going on at work.”

Sirius nodded and said nothing, waiting.

“The old pack is…spread out, not doing well. They let me in, but they don’t let me help.” He shook his head. “I’m sure that doesn’t make any sense.”

Sirius snorted. “It does,” was all he said, in that strained murmur that meant he wanted to say more. But he was waiting again, so he didn’t. Remus, though, felt like there was nothing else he knew how to stay. He thought of the solid weight of Marney’s toddler and sank deeper into his chair, though he was careful not to move in a way that disturbed the light clasp of Sirius’s hand.

Sirius’s thumb rubbed against his, up and down. Remus was deeply ashamed that such a small, slight contact could make his whole body warmer.

“Moony,” said Sirius slowly. “It does make sense to me. I know how you feel because it’s the way you make me feel.”

For an absurd moment, Remus’s heart hammered and he thought Sirius meant…

But then his thoughts caught up to the conversation they had just had, and he knew better. Still, it would be better if he repossessed his hand, and sat up straight and tucked his legs beneath his chair, safely away from Sirius’s. So he did that before meeting Sirius’s eye.

“Believe me, it isn’t the same. I’m fine.”

Sirius began to look frustrated, and Remus braced himself. But then, by some miracle, he watched his friend get himself under control, and instead of ranting and shouting Sirius merely said, “You aren’t fine. I know you don’t think of anyone but yourself, but you…”

Sirius looked away, jaw tense. When he looked back, his eyes were dark and firm. Remus had never seen this side of Sirius. This adult person who could remain somewhat rational when told, even indirectly, “no.”

“If you really want to do your best to help other people, shouldn’t you have a sodding roof over your head—and don’t get literal with me right now Moony, I fucking swear, I’ll…”

“I didn’t say anything,” Remus pointed out. “Although I do have a roof…”

Sirius’s eyes flashed, but still he didn’t abandon this new self-control Remus was witnessing. He seemed to grit his teeth. “Figuratively speaking. A roof over your head that consistently keeps out the rain and isn’t under constant threat of eviction. Food in the cupboards that isn’t crisis rations. If not for you, Moony, then for me. I’m useless on my own, you know that better than anyone.”

Remus looked out the window. Much of what Sirius had said was true, and while none of it expressed _new_ sentiments, the manner of delivery was certainly as close to mature as Remus thought Sirius capable. He had a sudden thought and looked at Sirius with a narrow eye.

“Did Lily feed you this script?”

Sirius looked so shocked, Remus knew it wasn’t faked. He relaxed and held up a hand. “Okay, she didn’t. I know. It’s just…” he cocked his head. “No yelling? No name-calling? I thought I was ‘too dense to be argued with at an ordinary volume’?”

A smile ghosted across Sirius’s mouth. As soon as Remus noticed Sirius’s mouth, he had to look away. But this time a countdown from just five was sufficient.

“Perhaps you’ve grown and matured,” said Sirius. “And now an ordinary volume is effective.”

“I don’t want to live somewhere your mother can shout at me,” Remus said.

If Sirius had been Padfoot, his ears would have pricked and his tail would be thumping. But since he was Sirius for the moment, he just sat straight up, eyes taking on an eager gleam. “I want to move out of that fucking mausoleum, anyway, I keep telling you.”

“Lily wouldn’t forgive you,” Remus observed. “It’s a…”

“‘Gold mine of magical history and ancient spellwork,’” Sirius quoted. His brilliant mind really was wasted on him, Remus thought fondly. “I’ll keep the house,” Sirius added. “I don’t have to live there to keep it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Remus said. “Now cast a good spell on this food so I can take it home with me. As you should already know, given your familiarity with the rule of twos, I’m going to be very hungry tomorrow.”


	3. The Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit long, and more than a bit unedited. I hope you enjoy anyway.

Sirius's idea of an affordable lunch spot was the sandwich place where every crust was spelled to invisible thinness, so that you could see the entire contents of the sandwich, which was then spelled to look like something beautiful, such as an ocean (Remus's) or the depths of a night sky (very ironically, Sirius's).

"This is very trendy," Remus observed, watching the surf inside his sandwich break against a cliff. He sniffed at it delicately. "It even smells salty. Which is not particularly appetizing, to be honest."

Sirius, looking interested, leaned close to his own food and inhaled deeply. It should have looked ridiculous, but instead the sight of him leaning forward, his hair swinging past his cheeks, his long-fingered hands braced against the table, did not look ridiculous to Remus at all. "Mine smells like stardust," Sirius decided.

Remus, who had begun to blush, was startled into a distracted laugh. "How in Merlin's name do you know what stardust smells like?" He frowned. "Is there such a thing as stardust?"

"The Blacks have always kept a cauldron full in the basement," Sirius continued carelessly. "It's one of the reasons the house is always cold." Remus stared at him cautiously. It was never easy to tell with Sirius, but he seemed to be truthful in this report, and Remus briefly considered visiting Grimmauld Place for a more in-depth tour than its previous masters had permitted during his single ill-conceived and abruptly truncated visit a decade before.

"What does stardust taste like?"

"Turkey and provolone, with a bit of mustard," said Sirius, winking. Remus was too tired to argue about the bill, Sirius having already taken care of it in advance, apparently, because a receipt appeared on the table as soon as Sirius ate his last starry bite. Sirius snatched it up before Remus could make out the no doubt astounding figure scrawled into the parchment.

"Next stop, the house," said Sirius. "We have two this afternoon. They sound very nice."

They were very nice. They were also astronomically expensive, which Remus knew without ever asking the sharp-dressed witch who was Sirius's agent. It was easily deduced by the fact that the first house was a giant red tower, clearly fashioned after the Gryffindor tower by an overly-enthusiastic alumnus. One who also wanted to ensure that every living Gryffindor could visit at once, and enjoy far greater luxury than the drafty castle had ever supplied.

"No," Remus said while the witch, chattering on about the square meters of the ground floor in both physical and wizarding space, opened the garden gates with her wand. They yawned ten feet above Remus's head. Sirius opened his mouth to argue, then looked at the red tower, the peak of it disappearing into the clouds overhead, and closed his mouth again to worry his lower lip.

"Ah, Esme," he called to the realty witch. "It's just not to our tastes, my love. Ever so sorry, but could we move on?"

The second house was slightly better, in that it was in a Muggle area and therefore so cloaked in disillusionments, Remus at first thought he was walking into an ordinary townhouse, but he tapped out somewhere in the vicinity of the second ballroom, no longer amused.

"I don't even understand why you brought us to either one," he hissed to Sirius, while walking away from the second place as fast as he could, no goal in mind except distance. "I can't pay my share of something like this, Sirius. Obviously."

Sirius rolled his eyes, and took a firm hold of Remus's elbow to slow him down. "Moony, listen to me. You're an adult now. Please."

"I am an adult!" Remus all but shouted, which was so unfamiliar for him, he blushed at the sound of his own slightly hoarse voice. "I've always..." he trailed off. Of course, he hadn't always been an adult, but he had always felt like one, especially from his earliest days around Sirius and James. A part of him had always thought, jealously, that they had the luxury of childishness, and he never fully would.

Remus shook off Sirius’s hand. “I have to go.”

He didn’t look at Sirius. He knew that if he did, Sirius would be giving him one of those aggravated, forlorn looks that Remus associated with Padfoot, and Remus wouldn’t be angry any more.

“Are you coming tonight?”

“Yes,” Remus said, still without looking over. “I wouldn’t miss Lily and Harry.”

“Right,” Sirius said stiffly, and Remus nodded and walked off, shoulders hunched, and did not allow himself to look back.

****

Lily had never brought Harry to London before, but she traveled with him enough that he seemed curious but relaxed at her side in the Muggle restaurant, filling in the spaces on his paper place mat with the provided crayon, hair in its usual mess.

Sirius grinned as he walked up, catching Lily’s eye. She smiled back, elbowing Harry. When the boy saw him coming, he leapt out of his chair with a happy shout.

“Indoor voice,” Lily reminded her son, leaning over him to kiss Sirius’s cheek. “Lovely to see you, Sirius. I had an owl from Remus. He won’t be joining us.” She pursed her lips in displeasure and patted Harry’s head, then steered him by the shoulder back to his seat at the table.

Sirius wondered if it was his fault Remus wasn’t there, but decided something must have come up. Even his irritation with Sirius wouldn’t keep Moony away, surely? He distracted himself by prodding Harry into a long narrative about his friends at home and his neighbor’s litter of puppies, the things he could draw and how high he could count. When he stopped to take a deep breath, Sirius looked over at Lily with raised eyebrows.

“Not the strong silent type, is he?”

Lily rolled her eyes, but smiled too, and when the waitress brought their food Harry fell upon his plate like he had been starved, going abruptly quiet in the process.

“So,” Lily began, casually. “How is Remus? Have you been seeing more of one another?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You know we have, if you’ve read my letters.”

“Mmm,” Lily said noncommittally. “And how is the house hunting going?”

“What else did Remus’s owl say?” Sirius demanded, but when Lily looked up, she appeared sincerely startled.

“Just that he had a note from someone in the old pack.”

Sirius leaned back with a sigh. “Oh.” He frowned. “The house hunting isn’t going very well.”

Lily arched a brow. “Tell me.”

Sirius described the events of earlier that afternoon, and tried not to feel too wounded by Lily’s snickering, but he drew the line when Harry looked up from his plate with a scoff that was a perfect replica of a noise James had often made at Sirius’s expense.

“And what do you know, _child_?” Sirius demanded.

“I know that Uncle Remus doesn’t like fancy things,” Harry said firmly, then paused and revised: “Well, except he likes you, Uncle Sirius.”

Sirius was aghast. “I am _not_ fancy!”

Lily and Harry both dissolved into giggles.

They managed to draw out the evening with two rounds of dessert before Harry became restless, and then they strolled out of the restaurant while Harry walked several paces ahead. Lily caught Sirius’s arm.

“Find a couple of nice, ordinary houses,” she said. “You might need a new agent while you’re at it. Someone who might believe you when you say you’re on a budget.”

Sirius sighed. “Fine.”

Lily briefly pressed her palm against his cheek, and Sirius smiled down at her. She looked like she was about to say something, but then she just smiled back, and reached a hand out for Harry. They turned into an alley and Lily took a last glance around for Muggle passers-by before they Disapparated.

When they were gone, Sirius ambled back toward the street, spontaneously deciding to walk home. As he stepped off the curb, he swore when he scuffed the toe of his favorite black patent boots on the pavement, and paused to hastily and surreptitiously repair them with his wand through his sleeve. Then he examined the results critically. Leather never seemed to take magical repair as well as other textiles.

“Merlin,” he thought, chuckling to himself. “I am a bit fancy.”

But Remus still liked him, he thought, his heart a bit lighter as he wandered homeward through the Muggle crowds, drafting the note he would owl the realty witch in the back of his head as he walked.

****

The next morning, Sirius woke to commotion in the foyer, Kreacher howling at the top of his lungs while a familiar voice, raised in consternation, tried in vain to soothe him.

Sirius knew there was only a short list of visitors the wards would admit, so most of his surprise had worn off by the time he came down the stairs to find Lily and Harry standing just inside the door while an irate Kreacher barred further entrance, his skinny arms spread and his posture resolute.

“Kreacher, for Merlin’s sake,” Sirius snapped. “Relent.”

Kreacher immediately backed away from the intruders, and his cries faded to muttering, and he turned his eerie visage on Sirius with the same amount of hostility.

“Yes, Master,” he said, as disrespectfully as possible, and Disapparated with an unnecessarily loud crack.

“Passive aggressive,” Sirius explained. “And also actively aggressive. In short, the years haven’t changed him much.”

Lily was hardly listening, looking around the house in that way she had, as though it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. “Sorry to drop in,” she said absently, then refocused on Sirius and frowned. “I’m afraid the hotel lost our reservation, and we’ve been out half the night.” She had her arm around Harry’s shoulders, and the boy was drooping against her, practically asleep on his feet.

“Blimey, Lily,” Sirius said, alarmed. “You should have come at once.”

“Well,” Lily said, yawning. “At first I thought we’d find another hotel. But this is not a good place to be looking for accommodations at the last minute, as it turns out.”

Sirius shook his head, incredulous. “You should have come at once, I said.” He grasped her hand and dragged her toward the staircase. “I have a room or two that have been cleared of all the hostile magic, mostly.”

“Mostly,” Lily echoed, but she didn’t sound concerned. “Thanks, Sirius.”

The wards pinged again a few minutes after Sirius had closed the guest room door behind the Potters, and since half the people who could drop in at 12 Grimmauld Place were already present and he doubted Albus Dumbledore would be calling, Sirius knew this time that Moony would be standing in the doorway receiving Kreacher’s ire.

After summarily dismissing Kreacher again, Sirius found himself facing Remus rather awkwardly. For his part, Remus put his head to one side and held up a paper sack that was damp with grease.

“Sausage roll?”

Peace thus made, Sirius smiled, nodded, and showed Remus to the kitchen, pointing out the dark artefacts of note along the way. Remus, apparently torn between amusement and alarm, shook his head as they finally settled down at the long, battered wooden table in the basement kitchen.

“You know they have witches and wizards who clear out places like this for a living,” Remus said.

“I do,” Sirius agreed. “One of their number is asleep upstairs at this very moment.” When Remus’s face went unpleasantly blank, Sirius laughed, a bit confused. “I mean Lily, Moony.”

Remus’s furrowed brow smoothed, and then he blushed inexplicably. “Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Come on, let’s eat.” He accio’d a few plates, then ducked when they came from directly behind him, making Sirius laugh again.

“Why is Lily here?” Remus asked curiously. “She always stays in Muggle London.”

“Desperation,” Sirius said, and explained. Then, impulsively, he added, “You should stay, too. Just while she and Harry are here. It’s a big house, and short term exposure to its unpleasantness shouldn’t be impossible to bear.”

Remus looked uncertain, but then he shrugged. “All right. Just while Lily and Harry are here.”

Sirius beamed. “Brilliant.”

****

Remus found that staying at 12 Grimmauld Place was unexpectedly pleasant. While the house still looked terrible and, in certain places, had a distinctly hostile energy, for the most part it was a shadow of the imposing residence Remus remembered. He had never been a house magic scholar, nor had the subject been a real source of curiosity for him, as it was for Lily, but he supposed that the family residence channeled the hostilities of its present master moreso than its previous masters and mistresses, and Sirius was a poor source.

Accustomed to living alone and with distressingly bare cupboards, the company and constant supply of food supplied and prepared by someone else was almost too much to bear. But Remus permitted himself to enjoy it as shamelessly as he could, and it was hard to be as introverted as was his tendency when Harry was about. It amazed Remus that so much energy could exist in such a small body.

That evening, after a long day of keeping Harry from inadvertently running afoul of the various dark objects in the house, the adults gathered in the study with three tumblers and a bottle of Muggle whiskey. As a surprise, Sirius had invited over Lily’s close friend from Hogwarts, Nancy Bones, and her husband Edgar. Nancy showed up alone, explaining that Edgar had stayed home with their infant daughter, who was sick with a cold. Lily interrogated her about the baby’s symptoms in the manner of one parent to another, before the conversation turned back to their shared history in the Gryffindor common room.

Two hours later, Nancy turned expectantly to Lily. “So, Lil, is there anyone special back in the states?”

Lily narrowed her eyes and sipped her whiskey. “No.”

Nancy sighed. “But look at you. You’re gorgeous. Isn’t she gorgeous?” She appealed to Remus and Sirius, who agreed dutifully.

“I’m very busy,” Lily said uncertainly.

“If you’re single, then you should go out while you’re here,” Nancy pressed. “Tell me you’re going out while you’re here.”

“Well, there’s Harry,” Lily reminded her old friend, looking amused.

“I’ll watch Harry!” Nancy said, as though the idea was just occurring to her. She sat up straight. “Lily, live a little. Tomorrow night, Harry will stay with us.”

That was how, the following night, Remus found himself at a corner table with Sirius, who he was still uncertain around with the specter of another day with the realty witch looming between them. Lily had gone off to the loo, and Remus was scanning the single room of the Muggle pub for somewhere to look.

When Lily was traveling without Harry, the three of them often met up at a pub. Her visits had become semi-frequent since the publication of her latest book, and until this trip, she always left Harry tucked away in some secret American hiding place. Remus always though she seemed younger outside of Harry’s presence, and that it must be good for her to have some time to herself, though he often caught her staring wistfully into the middle distance, and suspected she was missing her son in those moments.

Contrary to what she’d been willing to admit to Nancy, Lily generally went home with someone, though Remus doubted she would have done so if Harry was anywhere in the country. And the three of them had a few usual haunts, which meant that sometimes they accidentally encountered former paramours. This was the case that evening with a nice Muggle named Ian, who had been trying to catch Lily’s eye from across the pub’s single room for the better part of an hour.

“Is that Winston?” Sirius asked, squinting at the man.

“No,” Remus said, sipping his beer. “There was never a Winston. You’re thinking of Willard.”

“Yes, that’s it! Oi, Willard!” Sirius called. Across the room, Ian did not turn. Sirius frowned.

“It’s not Willard either,” Remus said, unable to contain his smirk.

“Willard?” Lily asked brightly, returning. “He was lovely.”

“I can’t keep them straight,” Sirius complained. “Lily takes having a type to an extreme.” Sirius handed Lily a beer, which she accepted with a wink.

“Do I?”

“Sirius,” Remus cautioned, but he couldn’t help his own smile.

“Tall, dark, and sullen,” Sirius went on, unfazed. He sent a significant look toward the other side of the room, where Ian was still speaking to his mates.

“That’s not very nice,” Lily said, but she seemed more amused than offended. “Tell me more.”

“You’re a heartbreaker,” Sirius continued obediently. “Poor chap doesn’t stand a chance, but he’s too smitten to realize it.” Lily frowned at that, looking worriedly over at Ian. “Oh, no, do you really think so?” Sirius just guffawed, and suddenly Remus found Lily’s pleading green eyes on his. Feeling cornered, Remus quickly took a swig of his beer to buy a few moments.

“Um,” he said after he’d swallowed, and shrugged sheepishly. “He does look rather expectant.”

Lily, adorably, looked between the two of them in disbelief. “But it was very casual. And we haven’t spoken since. Surely…?”

“This is why you have us, mate,” Sirius said soberly, slipping an arm around her shoulders and grinning when she slumped against him, frowning. “Someone has to tell you what’s right under your nose.”

When Ian inevitably wandered over with a terrible semblance of casualness, Lily was pensive and withdrawn, causing Ian to become increasingly distressed. When she asked if he wanted to go somewhere quiet to talk, he lit up and fell all over himself to agree.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a look when they were left alone at the little corner table, sitting closer than they needed to now that their party was halved, but not bothering to move apart. “Suppose they’re off to have ‘the talk’?”

Sirius nodded. “Knowing Lily, she won’t be able to spend another moment stringing him along knowingly.” He shook his head. “That girl.”

“She doesn’t see herself very clearly,” Remus admitted, but though they both teased Lily when she was present, he didn’t want to say anything disparaging when she wasn’t.

Sirius shook his head, as though amazed. “I’ve never understood that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Remus said, grinning. “Confidence has never been one of your problems.”

Sirius looked startled a moment, then he laughed, clear and loud. Remus was filled with a pleased warmth. He never grew accustomed to being the cause of that laugh. “No, it hasn’t,” Sirius agreed, his voice still bright with mirth. He looked thoughtful, his ridiculously pretty grey eyes soft, and before Remus could be totally overwhelmed, Sirius looked down at the table before him, where he was picking apart a paper napkin, methodically, with his thumbs and forefingers. “I rather feel for Ian,” Sirius said matter of factly. “He probably knew that if Lily figured him out, he’d never see her again.”

Remus snorted. “If you want to give him that much credit for insight, then I guess he was right.”

Sirius shredded the napkin determinedly. “I guess he was.”   


****

“That bad, was it?”

Lily glared at Remus over the rim of her teacup. Notoriously ill humored in the mornings, she was particularly bleary-eyed and fuzzy-haired, as though she’d been up late. “He told me he thought seeing me again was fate.” She continued glaring, as though Ian’s emotional outburst was somehow Remus’s fault.

Remus winced. “Sorry, love. At least it’s dealt with.”

Lily sighed, her expression easing a bit, though she still looked harassed. “Aren’t men meant to want casual sex?”

“It’s generally popular amongst our kind,” Remus agreed dryly.

Lily’s glare returned, but she now managed to make it look long-suffering. “We all know you only play for keeps, of course, Moony.”

Remus was startled. “What?”

“When you play at all,” Lily went on, undeterred. “Who was that last bloke? Jerry something?”

“His name was Blaine,” Remus said, wondering if Lily was as bad with names as she seemed, or it was just an act of some kind. “Blaine Rogers.”

“And that was during the war. We liked him, you know. James said he was ‘stalwart.’”

Remus tolled his eyes. “Prongs and his affectations.”

“But no one since,” Lily went on. “And only the one before, that you ever told us about. That Muggle in your home town.”

“Aaron,” Remus confirmed, wincing at the memory. Aaron had been straight, though he never exactly admitted it and Remus had convinced himself otherwise. Worse, Aaron was the worst kind of opportunist, coaxing Remus into all manner of gratifying acts but never reciprocating. It still made Remus feel ashamed to remember, but he had been devoted to the arsehole for almost two years.

“I think his name is about all I ever knew. Is there anyone you’ve been seeing lately, though?”

Remus laughed. “No.”

“What’s funny about it?”

Remus sighed. “Who can I possibly...when I...” he was flailing his hands a bit, sure he shouldn’t have to say it, but Lily just continued to stare blankly. It made him love her a little bit more. “Furry problem,” he said at last.

Lily snorted. “As a member of the dating pool—well not your dating pool, but you get my point—I can comfortably say that everyone has a wart.”

“A wart?” Remus looked at her incredulously. “I think that’s an understatement.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “I’m not making light, Remus. Of course I know that it’s terrible for you. But no one who cares about you gives a damn what shape you take on the bloody full moon.”

“It’s different with you.”

“And with Sirius,” Lily added.

Remus snorted. “Of course.”

Lily was silent, and when Remus looked over at her, she had her lower lip between her teeth as she did when she very much wanted to speak, but wasn’t sure she should.

“Lily?”

“How are things with Sirius?”

“I’m just visiting,” Remus said immediately.

“That wasn’t my question,” Lily murmured. But Remus has begun, now, and couldn’t stop.

“Why does he insist on doing everything in excess? He has no sense of boundaries. We were just starting to reconnect, and he brings up my moving in and he won’t drop it. It’s absurd, Lily.”

“Hmmm,” was all Lily said, and she was biting her lip again.

Remus sighed, making a semi-circular flapping motion with his right hand. “Out with it then.”

She raised a dark red eyebrow. Not for the first time, Remus thought absently that she was an absurdly pretty girl, and far out of James’s league. Then he felt a pang of guilt because James was dead, closely followed by the urge to laugh, because he knew James would have been the first to agree.

“It’s just...” she began, then paused. Remus waited her out. “Don’t get mad, all right? But, um, I...agree with Sirius.” She looked flushed. “I literally never thought I’d hear myself say that, but here we are.” Remus stared at her, stung. Reading his reaction easily in his face, she leaned over the table to clutch his forearm, and he resisted the urge to pull away and fold his arms like a sulky child. “Remus, I understand better than you think. Sirius wasn’t the only Marauder with a pedigree and a half dozen vaults at Gringotts, was he?” Remus exhaled through his nose, meeting her eyes reluctantly, and shook his head. “When James and I got married, it made me uncomfortable, the way he threw money around. And it didn’t feel like my money.”

“But you were married. It’s not the same.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “You’re an idiot if you think James loved me more than Sirius loves you.”

Remus felt his ears reddening, and he gently pulled away from Lily’s touch, frowning. “You were married,” he repeated. “You were a Potter too.”

Lily looked at him, making no effort to hide her amusement and exasperation, which Remus didn’t understand and chose not to examine too closely. Then she shrugged and got up from her chair. “You’re right,” she said breezily. “It’s not the same at all.” She went to the stove to start the tea.

****

The next day Lily and Harry went home, and Remus returned to his little flat. He had barely put down his bags when Sirius’s flashy eagle owl appeared at the window and hovered there, tapping at the pane with its claws.

Remus admitted it, fed it a crust of stale bread that was the last thing in his kitchen cupboard, and read Sirius’s brief note.

Sirius had a new agent, and they had a single appointment a week later to see a house at six o'clock in the morning. Remus read the time twice, not knowing Sirius to ever leave the house voluntarily before nine. When he floo called to be doubly sure, Sirius laughed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“I told her we would have to see it before work,” he admitted. “Lily told me to pretend to be, um, ordinary. It’s a Muggle place. Lily left the advertisement on the bureau when she left and when I saw it I thought it looked right.”

“Well, we’ll see,” Remus said uncertainly. When he withdrew his head and brushed ash from his hair, he was smiling.


	4. The Morning House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No editing, no problems! Sorry for any mistakes and hope you enjoy it despite them.

The appointment was too early for them to meet beforehand, so Remus made his way to the house alone. It took a bit of creativity to get there through a combination of Muggle and magical means; certainly, if a wizard bought the place, the first order of business would be hooking up a floo.

Orientation on a globe was not the way wizards thought about things. Remus’s parents were Muggles, so he had childhood memories of thinking of location as a point on a two-dimensional map. He wondered how Sirius was fairing, a man who had, his entire life, had locations described to him based upon apparition points and public floo routes, and for truly long journeys left the logistics entirely to the Portkey office.

A long lane hemmed in tightly by a surrounding forest led to the property. Remus walked down it, breathing slowly through his nose. There was no competition for his attention but the steady rhythm of his own heart and the sighing of the trees all around him. The wolf was easy in his chest.

The house came into view: an old stone tower that had once been part of a mill, tucked beside a stream. Its three stories were part of one slender cylinder topped with a tiled roof. Sirius leaned against a tree in the yard that was sweetly burdened with apples, absently tossing one back and forth from one hand to the other. When he saw Remus, he held the apple in his left hand and waved with his right.

“You’re early,” Remus observed, trying not to look at the house too closely as he approached, but helplessly noted anyway that it had a tidy herb garden, generous windows, and was half-covered in a blooming vine. It was the sort of place that he had seen in his daydreams and there was something painful about its perfection.

The Muggle agent was a sharp-dressed young man who kept shooting Remus and Sirius knowing looks as he led them through the simple floorplan, which would have felt small if the rooms weren’t so thoughtfully proportioned, if the doorways weren’t so wide and open. As they reached the third story, which was smaller than the other two and held two ample crescent-shaped bedrooms on either side of the stairwell, the sunrise finally completed its progress over the treeline and stained the pale wooden floorboards red and gold.

“What do you think?” Sirius asked as they wound through the rear garden. He looked easier in the setting than Remus would have dared to hope. His thoughtlessly elegant white shirt with its subtle ruffle was unbuttoned to his sternum and his hair was soft and loose. He kept smiling. “It’s even better than the photographs. Muggle photographs, you know,” he said, leaning close to Remus and lowering his voice with a glance toward the agent, who was standing a polite distance away to allow them to speak candidly to one another.

In the clean, uncomplicated surroundings, Sirius’s scent was warm and distinct. The wolf strained toward him and Remus, carefully, took a half step away.

“It’s very nice,” he said, and refused to say anything else. It wasn’t until they were walking back down the path that Remus, terrified at the irrational wave of homesickness he had for a place he’d never seen before that morning, a place where he’d never lived, a place he’d left only a minute before, grasped for any kind of meaningless conversation.

“How did you get here? And not just on time, but early.”

Sirius breathed a laugh. “I budgeted extra travel time,” he confessed, giving Remus a sidelong look that was heart-stoppingly bright and self-conscious. “I was excited,” he added with the same look on his face. Remus swallowed and looked away. “And,” he added more archly, “there is a wizarding village you can access through the woods. I’ll show you.”

There was. Some hamlet Remus had never heard of, consisting of two intersecting streets of shops with apartments overhead. They had coffee on a patio barely large enough for their two-top café table. Across the lane, a grocer was setting out bushels of fresh fruit and vegetables.

Sirius broke the pleasant silence when he cast a quiet Tempus, then swore. At Remus’s inquiring look, he sighed in apology, getting to his feet and leaving a galleon on the table.

“I have another engagement,” he explained.

“Two in one day? I thought you had rules about that.”

Sirius, intriguingly, only smiled. “Do you want to walk together to the floo, or will you stay?”

Remus said he would stay.

“All right.” For a moment, they simply looked at one another, Sirius still smiling, his eyes soft. “You’ll let me know when you decide, yeah?”

Remus nodded, unsure how to speak or, if he could, what he would say. He watched Sirius leave and felt, dazedly, as though he stood on the precipice of something forbidden. He put the biscuits Sirius had bought and then conspicuously left untouched into a takeaway sack. Instead of lingering, Remus let only a few minutes pass before he strode up to the crude outdoor fireplace in the village center, paid a sickle to the Floo powder vendor and reluctantly re-entered wizarding London.

He left the Leaky Cauldron without looking around. It was quiet there, being still relatively early in the morning, though the day felt well along to Remus. On the Muggle London side, a familiar barn owl was watching Remus intently from the windowsill of the next building. An ordinary wizard would not have noticed it, but Remus always found small living things eye-catching in an urban setting. The wolf’s senses were not calibrated to find detail in cracked concrete, bricks and mortar, metal vehicles and dented garbage bins, but the organic and the alive, however small, stood out.

Remus raised his arm, and the owl eagerly flew over to perch on his wrist, searching his tattered sleeve for evidence of treats while Remus untied the letter from its leg.

It was one of Dumbledore’s owls, so it was one of Dumbledore’s letters. They met from time to time, and during these meetings Dumbledore tried to give him a job at Hogwarts and Remus politely declined. The last offer had been assistant groundskeeper, and was the most transparent yet. It had always been obvious that the groundskeeping role, of dubious necessity in a castle populated by elves, was invented for Hagrid. Remus was pained by the indirect comparison between the wandless, former expellee and Remus, magical proficient and former prefect. It seemed their respective brands of relative inhumanity united them as no other trait could.

Still, Remus liked seeing the Headmaster and the school, and liked to think that Dumbledore enjoyed their meetings out of more than mere obligation.

The appointment was for later that morning, to Remus’s surprise; he wondered how long it had taken the owl to track him down. Ordinary post owls had to wait at your residence, but after innumerable decades in Dumbledore’s proximity, his trio of barn owls had uncanny abilities.

Remus transfigured his pocket lint into a quill and jotted down a response, then gave the owl a bit of biscuit from the takeaway sack before it flew off.

He took the public floo to Hogsmeade, waited fifteen minutes, and walked to the castle. In an unprecedented surprise, Dumbledore met him at the gates. Remus was so startled he was mute through their entire warm handclasp, before he managed a smile and a polite greeting in return.

“Has something happened?” Remus asked, confused. Dumbledore’s brow wrinkled.

“This may seem a vile assumption on my part, and forgive me for it, but, yours was the only name that came to us. Someone has left a child in the Forest.”

Remus still failed to understand. “That’s…but…my name, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore still looked distressed. “It was not apparent to me, but the Centaurs are sure that the boy is…”

Ah. “A werewolf,” Remus supplied. Then he hesitated, a deeper sense of foreboding seizing him. “Was he bitten?”

Dumbledore hesitated, then shook his head. “I do not believe so. Poppy has given him a medical examination, and there are no marks. We cannot…or rather, we do not know who to contact. If he was an unaccompanied child solely, and not also cursed, then it would be the Ministry.”

There was no need to supply the statement. Because he _was_ cursed as a werewolf, the Ministry would take custody of him as a magical creature and not as a minor wizard. No one was sure how the policies differed officially, but unofficially…

Remus sucked in a breath. He had no idea what to do, but there was one thing he did know: “Thank you, Headmaster, for contacting me.”

Dumbledore’s grave face eased slightly; his eyes emitted the faintest of twinkles. “I confess, dear boy, that it was Severus’s idea to contact you, though I agree it was a very good one.”

Remus felt his expression go completely blank. He cleared his throat, and with nothing to say to _that_ , just asked the question that came to mind. “May I meet him?”

The boy was probably the healthiest and smallest occupant the Hogwarts infirmary ever had. He sat upright in a bed, crisp sheets tucked around his waist, eating enthusiastically from a tray while two house elves looked on. He was pink-cheeked, blond, and smelled strongly of wolf.

“Hello,” he said brightly, his nose twitching as he looked at Remus, and very slightly cocked his head to expose his neck like a good cub. The sight of it reminded Remus of every pack-raised child he had ever met, and the ensuing wave of competing emotions made him blink. Then he smiled, angled his body toward the boy and then away, and the child relaxed and sat up again. Dumbledore was watching the exchange closely, but Remus doubted he noted the half of it. Like everyone else without the curse, Dumbledore knew very little of werewolf culture.

“I’m Zack,” said the boy. “What’s your name?”

“Remus.” He walked closer to the bed, still smiling reassuringly, though the boy did not seem concerned. He was thin, but ordinarily so for a young child growing fast and transforming to an animal once a month.

“I’m three,” Zack supplied, as though accustomed to and thus anticipating the standard questions. “I don’t know my surname.” Zack then took such a large bite of his sandwich that he couldn’t say anything else.

Remus, amused, looked at Dumbledore, who was smiling fondly at Zack. When Zack continued to watch Remus, chewing and openly curious, Remus decided that he wouldn’t be alarmed by closer proximity. He took another step closer and deeply inhaled. Remus couldn’t catch the scent of another wolf at all, let alone one he recognized. He smelled only the clear scent of the cub.

Zack reached out and took Remus’s hand, as though it had been offered. He had clear blue eyes that met Remus’s surprised look, liquid and guileless. Remus felt something tighten around his heart. It cinched tighter when Zack said: “Are you a nice alpha, then?”

“I try to be,” Remus said roughly, gently squeezing Zack’s small, warm fingers. “How did you come to be in the forest, Zack?”

Zack shrugged and smiled. “I don’t remember.”

Remus glanced at Dumbledore. _Obliviate_ , the Headmaster mouthed. Remus made a small, involuntary sound of distress. Mind magic was dangerous when used on children. He fought off the protective anger that emanated from the wolf, looking back at Zack with what he hoped was an uncomplicated smile.

“Do you know the names of your mum or dad?”

“I don’t have a mum or dad,” Zack said, smiling again as though the fact caused him no pain. “Does that mean you’ll be my alpha?”

Remus looked at him, feeling helplessly ill-equipped. His only experience with children this age was visiting a toddler-sized Harry, which had been only a few years before, but suddenly felt like much longer. “It means I’ll be your friend,” he said.

Fortunately, that seemed to please Zack, who grinned, then stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth in one go.

Drawing Remus aside, Dumbledore looked somewhat more at ease than he had at the gates, but still not his implacable self. “We can house the child here at the school until the end of the holiday, but then…”

Remus nodded, surprised only that Dumbledore was willing to keep Zack that long. “If you like, I could come be here for the full moon.”

More of the tension left the Headmaster’s shoulders, and he smiled at Remus. “Thank you, my boy. We would appreciate that. The child is, as you can see, no trouble, but we have all been uneasy with the idea he should face the change alone.”

This was, Remus realized as he left the school, creating a conflict with another full moon commitment. He had been running with the old pack, a sort of bonding exercise that he told himself he engaged in mainly to build relationships and ensure they put up the wards that he was always telling them to use. It was also a delight to the wolf to have companionship and open space, instead of penning him into the flat as Remus has done in his years of self-imposed exile after James’s death and Peter’s imprisonment.

That train of thought led back to Sirius.

If Remus was honest with himself, which he tried to be – lies of omission aside – he wasn’t angry with Sirius anymore. He hadn’t been angry with Sirius in some time. He had sheltered behind the _idea_ of anger, resentment, and betrayal, to protect himself from the truer nature of his feelings for his oldest friend.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been angry at first. Hurt, angry, and unable to fathom forgiving Sirius for what he’d nearly done. He had told Sirius all was forgiven during the days after the war, and he had meant it. But in the turmoil, emotionally, politically and otherwise, how badly he had come to need Sirius had frightened Remus. Had led him to flee.

Now, he knew he was capable of a kind of survival on his own. There was real, physical hunger in the life he had cobbled together, and loneliness too, but he could bear it. A part of him had needed to know that. But now that he did, the self-inflicted austerity was beginning to seem foolish. He thought of the house in the woods where Sirius wanted them to live together, and the buoyant warmth that filled him was so unfamiliar it took him several moments to recognize it for what it was: happiness.

He would have to tell Lily she had been right, though she wasn’t the sort to need to hear it.

He rode a wave of contentedness halfway home, then had the misfortune of seeing the _Daily Prophet_ headline at the unassuming little stand outside the Hogs Head, which had been empty when he had passed it on the way up to the castle.

_Black Heir to Purchase Love Nest for Mystery Man!_

“Bloody hell,” Remus said, startling an old witch passing him by into a glare and a mutter about the poor manners of young people.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little ending. Thanks for reading!

The night before the full moon, Sirius goaded Remus into the old Marauder tradition of drinking any available alcohol in irresponsible quantities. Being able to choose the alcohol was a pleasant development, rather than just accepting whatever exotic and usually unpalatable selection Sirius had pilfered from his parents’ stores over the most recent holiday. Sirius had finalized his purchase of the house without consenting to negotiate Remus’s rent first. They hadn’t a chance yet to transfer any belongings. But Remus told himself all of that would be dealt with in due course, and that he was allowed to enjoy the prospect of never again spending a night in his pathetic little flat alone.

“We could set the wards tomorrow, and spend the full moon here,” Sirius suggested. They had briefly discussed warding a chunk of the woods around the property for Remus to change, but while he hadn’t been ready to tell Sirius where he’d been going during the full moon, Remus thought he would still prefer to be with the pack. He worried about them too much otherwise.

“Well, tonight I’ll be at Hogwarts,” Remus admitted. Sirius had his arms looped over his knees. They’d lit a few fixtures with magic, but the room was getting dark otherwise, and the artificial firelight suited the planes of Sirius’s face and the contrasts of his very dark hair and his very pale skin.

“Is that so?” Sirius looked interested rather than suspicious.

“It is,” Remus confirmed, not sure why this topic made him feel uncomfortable, nor why he hadn’t gotten it out of the way before now. “There’s a werewolf child there that the staff are looking after. They still haven’t found his family.”

“A werewolf child,” Sirius echoed. “That’s…but…how old is he?”

“Three,” said Remus, grimacing. He was still particularly pained by the thought of such a small child going through the change, let alone on his own.

“May I come?” Sirius asked. Remus didn’t know why he was surprised, but there was certainly no way to say no, so he nodded.

“Of course.” For some reason, the idea of the two of them out under the full moon, as they had done before, but with Zack bounding along with them instead of James, filled Remus with an excess of emotion. He set aside the alcohol and got up to piss. He went outside, because he could, and because the moonlight excited the wolf to an extent that would be a welcome distraction. When he was done he rearranged his robes and cleaned his hands with a spell.

This was all such a mistake. He had known it all along.

“Remus, do…”

He wasn’t sure when Sirius had come outside, but the sound of his voice startled Remus, who turned abruptly and in so doing bumped into him. They grasped at each other for balance and wound up standing close: Sirius had a hand tangled in the front of Remus’s robes, and the other clutched Remus’s forearm. Remus had his hands on Sirius’s waist. He had a moment’s déjà vu, back to Taos, where Sirius had seemed to drop out of the sky and entwine himself against Remus in the doorway of the Pueblo gift shop, in the midst of all that glorious sun and heat.

Hypnotized somehow, Remus didn’t realize Sirius was leaning in at first. And when he did, he was too stilled by shock to step away. Sirius’s mouth was gentle and warm. His eyes stayed open, fixed on Remus’s. It was too dark to read anything in them, except that they were grey and dear to Remus. There was nothing dearer to Remus.

The kiss was chaste, and brief, but Remus automatically slid his hands around Sirius’s back and pulled him closer. Their lower halves were pressed together and there was nothing chaste about their mutual response. Remus was still paralyzed, but now by surprise and also the fear that any amount of friction might make him come immediately, in his clothes, like a child. The same child who had always been staring at Sirius. Dreaming of Sirius. Coming alive to the concept of sex on fantasies and dreams of Sirius. It was enough to make his head spin now.

“Just because the _Prophet_ said it, doesn’t mean you have to make it true,” Remus pointed out, searching for any levity in Sirius’s shadowed face. Sirius made a low growling sound and ran his nose up and down Remus’s throat.

“It was already true,” Sirius said. This time Remus initiated the kiss, and it was bolder, accompanied by tongues and awkward thrusting which was the best feeling Remus had had in his life, before Sirius drew back, wrestling out of Remus’s grasp, laughing.

“Don’t be so _grabby_ ,” he said, and the moonlight fell on his face, grinning and lovely. Remus could have looked at him forever, except Sirius was getting to his knees and even sappy and lovesick, Remus could not object to that for any reason.

It was a wonderfully long night, the accumulation of years of wondering and the tow of the moon apparently offsetting the alcohol in both their systems. In fact, Remus was fairly certain the moon had rather a lot to do with it, because as soon as it set Remus collapsed with his head on Sirius’s sticky chest and tumbled into unconsciousness directly.

Remus first woke in the early afternoon, lying on a blanket that did nothing to cushion the hard floor, a second blanket tangled between his legs, sore everywhere, and saw Sirius in a similar state. They were lying close to one another, but the sole point of contact was their respective left and right hands, wound together between them. The position had put something of a knot in Remus’s shoulder, but he also never wanted to move. He fell back asleep, and the next time he woke up he was alone, the blanket tucked more firmly around him and the floor squishy from one of Sirius’s shite cushioning charms.

“Shall we get breakfast, then, before I meet Zack? It’s nearly four o’clock,” said Sirius, appearing from the kitchen and sitting down next to Remus as though shagging and waking up together was something they did all the time. The casual intimacy was too much; Remus turned his head away, and when he looked back, saw Sirius watching him carefully.

Remus reached out and took Sirius’s hand, and the tension in Sirius’s face broke. They smiled at each other.

“Yeah, breakfast in the evening,” he said. “Then we’ll go meet Zack.”

For Remus, so many moments in his life had seemed like beginnings, only to be truncated in relatively short order by various disasters. But this time – stupidly, he thought, but nonetheless – it all felt very different. The promise felt surer, the possibility brighter. He got to his feet and blushed at his nakedness then accepted Sirius’s kisses and then frowned, realizing something.

“We missed the first morning here together,” he said. “It’s so lovely here in the morning.”

“It’s a house made for mornings,” Sirius agreed, but his tone was arch. When he caught sight of Remus’s complicated expression, he tugged on his hand. “We have a lifetime’s worth of mornings here if we want them,” he said. Then he put his head to one side and added more quietly, “Don’t we?”

Remus’s answering grin felt like it would stay fixed forever on his face. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I expect we do.”


End file.
